Lilly
The hours had passed late into the night, and I had become more convinced than ever that now was the time to make my escape.
I had one suitcase I could drag with one hand if need be and a backpack ready to be slung over my shoulders. I had a little over a couple hundred dollars in cash I had found as I went through and searched my room. I had already planned out an escape route to get off the property—my room had a balcony that had a stairwell leading to the backyard, which I could then run to the edge of before sneaking around nearby houses. It wasn’t exactly secret agent stuff, but it was the best I could do.
The front yard would be far too densely populated, far too crowded with my father’s henchmen. The sides of the house didn’t really lead anywhere; only through the back and around would there be any chance of having a true escape option.
I took a deep breath. I could hear my father talking to a few club members downstairs. He sounded as frazzled and angry as he had in ages, and that was saying something. I heard something like, “Why haven’t you assholes split them apart?” “No good fuckups,” and so much more. If my father ever thought he was keeping me protected from that part of his life, then he had no idea how little he really knew.
Or he’s just deliberately dense and delusional.
I did one final checkup of everything in my bags. I had everything I needed. I carried my bags to the porch.
And then I paused.
This was so much easier thought than done.
I was leaving my father for my freedom, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t leaving nothing behind. This was the house that both my father and my mother had raised me in. It was disingenuous to say that there were no good memories here.
In fact, in my own room, there were photos I didn’t have space for that featured my mother or my father actually smiling. There were trips to far-away locations like Mexico City and Paris. There were memorabilia trophies from my sports days, although those had fallen off around the time my mother died and my father had become far more controlling.
I’m not saying goodbye to them. I’m saying goodbye to them being here. I can still carry them with me, if only metaphorically.
The door to my room swung open.
“Lilly.”
I jumped when I saw my father standing there. He had a perplexed look on his face. He wasn’t looking at me—he was looking past me. Right at the bags I had packed.
“What’s going on here? What are you doing?”
I gulped. I put on a pretty smile, but it had to be the least convincing smile ever.
“I heard all of the commotion downstairs and thought that I should get ready to leave just in case,” I said. “I thought you’d want me to get ready to go to Oregon—”
“I didn’t tell you to start packing,” he said. “You were going to run away, weren’t you?”
“What?” I said, laughing in a desperate attempt to make my father’s accurate accusation sound ridiculous. “No! Dad, if I was running away, I would have left by now.”
“You were going to fucking run away, weren’t you?” he said. “After everything I’ve done for you. After everything I’ve given to you. You were about to run away. How fucking dare you!”
“Dad!”
My father’s nostrils swelled and his eyes widened. But at least for a brief respite of a moment, he kept his mouth shut. I had this one chance to avoid getting screamed at or hit.
“You’re always saying I should be prepared for the worst, be prepared for whatever may happen, equip myself to make sure I don’t get hurt,” I said. “And that’s exactly what I’m trying to do right now. You already told me you want me to go to…”
My voice trailed off as my father started to laugh at me.
“Do I look so fucking stupid?” he said. “You ungrateful, stupid bitch. I give you everything and treat you so well, and the first thing you want to do is run away when you can. Well, fine.”
He came forward and shoved me to the ground. I fell too easily; though far past his physical prime, my father still had that brutal, violent strength that could make anyone my size cower and crumble before him. He raised his hand. I crunched up, preparing for the worst.
No strike came. I still didn’t open up. I was terrified he was baiting me into looking at him before he hit me. It was only when I heard him chuckle that I glanced up, keeping my chin tucked to my chest.
“It seems you’re a faster learner than you used to be,” he said. “Unfortunately, just because you are a fast learner does not mean you are a willing one. Spike!”
I heard someone very heavy thundering up the stairs. I could hear chains and metal bouncing off of the approaching man’s body; he sounded like a movie villain more than an actual man.
